The Gaggle of Extraordinary Losers
by Azael
Summary: The day Tsutsui is kidnapped is the day his life changes though whether it's for the better or worse he can't tell. Thrown in with a band of miscreants, he somehow manages to become part of a plot to bring down a government and change the world.
1. Chapter 1

It was the sort of morning that was easily forgotten, one of those many mornings with remarkably similar weather, events and people that all blurred in to one. The sky was the sort of colour that a poet might describe as 'steel grey' and any other person (generally a lot more sensible about things like the weather), would call 'boring'. There weren't any poets around to comment on the sky that morning however; the village that was under that particular patch of grey was so dull that no cartographer remembered to put it on a map, bar as an afterthought for the university set nearby. Lowood was the kind of one horse village (the horse in question being a sullen old nag belonging to the Archchancellor of the university and rarely taken out of its stall) that was visited only out of necessity – distant and mildly embarrassing relatives or passing through on the way to somewhere much more exiting and consequential. The nearby university towered over the grimy little village below, a mass of stone buildings that spanned centuries of changing architecture. The university looked, with the right imagination, like a field of rather ugly looking mushrooms. The eldest, tallest and most unhealthy looking building, the central tower, worked as the first spore capsule, and buildings that sprawled below it were like the equally unpleasant and varying offspring, all smaller and newer near the outskirts of the college campus, while the middle buildings looked prone to collapse at a draft.

It was the central tower, a semi-shabby building that looked rather like a rook from a chess set (or a badly balanced mushroom), that Tsutsui Kimihiro came out of on that particular day, a random magical scroll that he had happened to be reading through stuffed under his belt for storage and slightly crushed by the overhanging thick material of his dark brown acolyte robes. Tsutsui was not part of the usual traffic to and from the central tower, which generally consisted of teachers, scholars, and servants. He was a student at the college, and as such was given a perfunctory curious glance by the entering and leaving the tower. Being the focus of such frank interest was unusual to the poor novice, who was almost feeling guilty for not being as interesting or important as people hoped until they saw what he was carrying. A bag of washing was slung over one of his shoulders and he was trying his best to look more important and determined than embarrassed at his lowliness, as the dirty laundry he was bearing down to the village well was not just anyone's discarded undergarments, but the Archchancellor's himself. Tsutsui tried to pretend that this mattered in the long run – that doing his assigned duties cheerfully and competently would influence his marks and his teachers' opinions of him. So Tsutsui reaffirmed his grip on the lumpy bag and plastered a delighted smile on his face, ignoring the strange looks he received from other students and teachers alike as he headed out of the university gates and down the uneven track towards Lowood, which wallowed below the college grounds like a pig in mud.

Down in Lowood proper, a figure lurked. He was rather adept at lurking, as he had over the years had many chances to practice it, in many different situations. The key to lurking, he had discovered, was to exude the aura of a man that no one, big or small, wanted to talk to, let alone cross. This generally meant finding a corner somewhere, not too inconspicuous, like he was trying to hide, but nowhere where people would have to get close in order to pass or go about their daily lives. It was ideal to find a place where he would almost always appear at the corner of their vision, like the ghost the suspicious peasants think they see at night in graveyards. In terms of posing, he found that arms crossed and sticking his chest out slightly to emphasise his size, head slightly bowed to give the idea of threatening nonchalance (and show off the heavy sword strapped to his back) worked remarkably well. He also found that chewing aggressively on the end of his long ivory smoke pipe added just the right touch to be actively avoided in the streets. The fact that he was standing on the corner by a rather unpleasant smelling alleyway had to help, but the lurker preferred to put it down to his talent, not the smell of old cat piss and rotten potatoes.

They mysterious new figure in Lowood looked briefly up at the sky, teeth absently grinding over familiar dents in his pipe. It looked like it was going to rain. He hoped the sort of person he hoped would pass would hurry up, before he was forced to lurk in the pub with a mug of ale instead.

It took Tsutsui around ten minutes to reach Lowood, and all of a minute to reach the village square, a desolate looking patch of mud with a few half-hearted merchants attempting to flog off badly made trinkets and rather sad looking crops. In the centre of the square was a large well, which was where the university both washed it's clothes and pulled its drinking water. While there was water available on the university campus, it had been so exposed to magic over the years it had the same effect on the drinkers as water did from lead pipes – general derangement and the occasional death. This meant that though it seemed distasteful for both parties (as the university thought the village was grimy and the village thought the university was snooty and frankly weird), the small economy of the village relied on members of the university occasionally visiting when the cloisters became all too much, and the university relied on the generally clean and untainted water from the village in order to survive.

Ignoring the other well patrons, as he had been taught to since arriving to further his education two years ago, Tsutsui hooked his own bucket onto the well chain and carefully lowered it down into the well. His glasses, a primitive affair of two ovals of spelled glass held together and hooked over his ears with silver wire, made this process much easier to do, but did not help his peripheral vision. This being the case, he only saw the lurking man as a vague grey blob at the corner of his vision, and passed him off as a sack leaning against a wall, or something of similar unimportance. He was unsure why such a large sack would be in a place like that and rather sure that it would swiftly disappear (hessian made wearable clothes, if one didn't mind the itching), so he paid it little attention. His mind wandered to the thought of wearing hessian undergarments, and the discomfort there provided.

The 'sack' stirred slightly from its post and watched the new arrival at the well. His robe was maybe a little too large at him, which he could tell by how far in around his waist it was pulled, but he estimated that the figure under it would be willowy, though not unhealthily so. He let his eyes flick clinically to the boy's wrists as he rolled up his sleeves, no, he was thin but not delicate. He could see the outline of bones, but nothing stuck out, like bones in a water skin. In his personal opinion, as a connesiur of both women and men, it wasn't a good look. Fashion these days, making perfectly good bodies waste away. The boy bent over, slightly waved black hair falling over his dark eyes and kind-looking features and the lurker pursed his lips slightly and firmly told himself that he was choosing the boy because he was convenient, not because he had a nice rump. Of course.

The lurker moved, breaking the sullen air that had collected around him, and drew his longsword out of its sheath with a noise that would have been ominous, if it had not been masked by the clucking of an offended chicken somewhere in the distance. Damn the soundtrack of the country.

Sword held casually in his right hand, he crossed over to the well, somewhat annoyed that the novice was obviously paying more attention to the knotted drawstring he was trying to open rather than his surroundings and the ominous approach of the shadowy figure.

He stopped, boots obviously in view under the boy's nose, but still ignored. Even more agitated than before, he used the tip of his infinitely sharp sword to nudge the water bucket with more force than necessary, slopping its contents all over the novice's robe, the bag of washing, and his lap. The boy squawked, jumped slightly, then scowled up at him finally, mouth twisted into a cutely affronted scowl.

The lurker smiled brightly and lifted his sword to press gently against the boy's throat.

"Good day," the lurker said, face shadowed and indistinct but red mane of hair glowing like a firey halo due to the position of the sun, "I'll be your kidnapper for today. Screaming and struggling are allowed and in fact encouraged for the sake of drama, however escape won't be tolerated. I'm looking forward to working with you."

End First Chapter

Hellooo. I love Kaga and Tsutsui stories, and this has been brewing in my mind for a while. It's supposed to be amusing to some degree, and it combines my favourite things – boys with boys, fantasy and humour. Please leave lots of reviews et cetera, it encourages me, and I'm a little lonely right now, since I'm living alone in Japan now. Love me! Review for me!


	2. Chapter 2

Author Note: Hoorah, another installment of the oddest thing I've written for a while. I hope you guys enjoy it. Consider it something to read whilst waiting for the next bit of my other HnG fic.

The still, grey sky tainted the dark green of the forest trees below an ominous black, and left the grass hemming and growing up from between the cobblestones of the national highway ashen. The world through which it travelled and the cart itself contrasted so strongly that the vehicle, drawn by a placid to the point of semi-comatose donkey looked almost ridiculous. It was a covered wagon, made of worn wood, painted various lurid shades of yellow, red and orange. The material used to cover the sleeping area of the cart was dark blue with a rather realistic looking galaxy painted on it, and depending how closely one looked at the formation of the stars, the words 'H & T Amalgamated' could be read.

The two occupants of the cart, both of whom looked no older than twenty, could be heard for miles around as they argued, obviously not caring if they attracted the attention of any highway robbers. The topic of their argument drifted like the clouds above them, from politics to where they were headed, to whose turn it was to cook, and even to whether being elder meant experience or senility. The banter seemed well rehearsed but not quite jovial – they each meant the barbs to some degree, though they were sitting close and obviously had said the same thing before many times.

The familiarity and equality that seemed to float between the two made the two, relatively normal looking on their own, look rather odd. They were polar opposites though both mages, one was wearing a stylish bright yellow robe with black leather over his shoulders and down his arms identifying him as a battle mage, the other in a rather musty looking black robe edged with lace and revealed absolutely no skin from the neck down, and a slightly bent black wizards' hat. The young man in yellow brushed his blond fringe behind his ears to join the rest of his hair, which was black, and made a superior face.

"As a nationally certified Warlock of the High Order of Royal Elementalists, I believe that my opinion is worth more than yours. Therefore, that bird," he pointed towards where the bird would have been, had they not passed it several minutes ago whilst embroiled in a different argument (and seemed vaguely surprised to see it gone), "is obviously a Raven, not a Crow."

The other rolled black eyes in a delicate, pale face and replied waspishly, "I couldn't care less if you're a certified WHORE or an army harlot; I have been on this earth a respectable amount of time longer than you have, and have therefore seen enough birds to know the difference between an intelligent and superior Crow and an overweight Raven."

"So you _admit_ you're older than time itself?"

"Begging your pardon? _Time itself_? You young upstart!"

The elder, flicking his long black hair was obvious affront, shook the reins without any obvious effect on the speed of the placid beast pulling their vehicle and started to stolidly ignore his passenger.

The yellow-fringed passenger leant forward and stuck his face in the driver's line of vision.

"Akiiiira…"

Blinking slowly, the black cowled one calmly looked through his cheerful friend with an effectiveness brought on by years of experience.

"Aaakiiiiiiiiiraaa…."

The dark figure blinked again, back straight and jaw stubbornly set.

Sudden movement in, the partial blonde pressed a quick and wet kiss to the other's mouth, leaned back out of retaliation range then grinned impishly.

"Touya Akira is the genius Atomic Manipulator of the century."

Taking a moment to recover is wits, Akira nodded grudgingly. "Apology accepted. Sit down now; you're disturbing Ameko."

Flicking the reins again to encourage Ameko the donkey on (still to no avail though neither noticed), Touya Akira, a senior member of the Atomic Alchemist Guild (which normally had as little to do with the opposing guild with the unfortunate initials WHORE as possible) and singularly unimpressive figure, cocked his head absently to one side.

"Do you hear something?"

Hikaru frowned slightly. "Are you sure you're just not going senile?"

Sniffing, Akira raised his chin at the affront. "Unlike some unnameable people, I don't happen to talk to empty air."

"Oh yes? Well I hate to rock your medieval mindset, but familiars are real."

"I refuse to believe it until I see more than half-crazed magicians talking to themselves."

By this point the noise which the alchemist had previously thought he had heard had moved into the league of a dull roar, but was seemingly forgotten for another argument.

The noise of horse hooves, snapping twigs and an almost constant scream for help finally reached a climax as the sources of the cacophony burst onto the road in front of the cart.

Tsutsui, thrown like a sack of potatoes across the front of the saddle, looked up at the wagon, and started to yell even more.

Hikaru watched Tsutsui attempt to escape the horse, get hauled back on and start kicking furiously with the sort of vague interest that one usually watches a bug on a leaf with.

"Hikaru, I think he wants us to help him."

The two-toned mage rubbed his chin thoughtfully as the confused horse, playing host to kidnapper and kidnapped as they struggled, danced back and forth across the road. "I think you're right. But if you look behind the screaming dandy, you'll see that there's more to this," he replied, raising a hand and waving for attention, "Kaga, you found us. Do you need any help?"

Kaga, fist raised and other hand holding Tsutsui up by the collar of his novice robe paused mid-swing, looked up at the two of the wagon, then abruptly go and lowered his hands, ignoring his hostage as he slid unceremoniously backwards off the side of the horse and landed on his rear in the middle of the dusty road. "I think I have this about sorted," he planted a foot firmly on his hostage's shoulder so he didn't think of running, "I just need a place to store this one."

With a disapproving sniff, the dark-haired alchemist leapt with ease from his perch on the rickety wooden seat of the wagon and trotted around to the flap at the back. He pushed it open and half-crawled inside.

Being led firmly around to the back of the cart by a hand clenched in the front of his robe, Tsutsui watched with growing panic as a pair of black-clad legs wiggled, swore in an archaic but violent way then jumped a few feet off the ground with a almighty boom. The shockwave blew his hair out of his face and the end of the few seconds of silence after the explosion was punctuated by the sound of crockery breaking.

"Oh bollucks, I broke the teapot."

The pair of legs wiggled back out of the wagon, and the dark-haired young man attached to them attempted to put his hair back into order. Then with a smile, he held the wagon flap open for them.

"Well, there should be room for you now. Don't mind the smell."

Even with a hand pressing firmly on his back, Tsutsui wasn't moving any closer to the gap in the fabric.

"Oh don't worry, it's perfectly safe now. So long as you don't touch anything."

"Come on, insurance policy," Kaga said with a grin, forcibly dragging Tsutsui into the back of the wagon, "it's not as bad as it looks."

Tsutsui wondered how it could be worse.


	3. Chapter 3

Tsutsui did have instincts.

He had just learnt to ignore them, after his time spent at the college.

There was something about wizardy that went against what a regular person considered 'normal'. Amongst those that cared to discuss it, the general consensus was that this was because it really wasn't particularly normal. The deep-rooted animalesque nature that lurks and growls in the back of all humans' minds considers bashing things on the head with a rock (be it an animal or a relative) a normal idea, as with finding some creature that appeals in some way and mating with it. In a general sense of humankind, it is easy to see that humans often succumb to these ideas. As such, there is something about waving a hand and say a few words to create a forest where there once was a city that the animal in everyone doesn't like. In a way, the animal is a conservatist. It still hasn't gotten the memo that events like this are getting more and more frequent. So when a wizard starts playing with these innate abilities of theirs, the compulsion to at first let out a beastial howl, rip off their long robes then jump up and down on them, then finally run outside and eat something raw flares up. Through continuing studies, wizards learn to ignore these. Soon, they're calling large man-eating tigers 'pretty kitties' and continuing to chat blithely as thugs start loosening their swords from their sheathes and wondering just how many ways they'll be forced to make the poor bastards squeal before they'll shut up.

People that still listened to their instincts (those that had never learnt magic) tended to call this 'lack of common sense'.

Tsutsui was not quite at the stage where he would fly a kite during a thunderstorm and call it a smashing good time just yet, but his stoicism towards his innate wants and needs was indeed good enough for him to be able to fall asleep, though his nerves were all screaming for him to chew a hole in the wagon canvas and run like a bat out of one of the more unpleasant, firey planes. Besides, the movement of the wagon and the darkness inside it were oddly comforting. It was almost like being in a rickety, highly explosive womb. Though that might have been his deepening lack of day-to-day sense talking.

Either way, Tsutsui was dead to the world by the time Kaga started talking to himself.

Once again lurking at full strength, Kaga had crawled into the wagon behind Tsutsui and settled opposite him, back to the canvas and a sullenly threatening look on his face. Now that the hostage had fallen asleep (mouth slightly open and head resting against a crate that occasionally hissed over particularly large bumps, which was rather cute, up until the point Tsutsui started drooling), Kaga let his muscles relax, rubbed his face to try and clear the slight cramping around his eyebrows, and let out a sigh. Unbuckling his sword, he lifted it clear of his belt then laid it across his lap. He ran his fingers gently over the large, deliberate scratch through the insignia of a shield bearing a raven and a knight's helmet, lovingly branded into the worn leather of the sheath.

"Still moping, fluffy?"

Kaga snatched his hand away from the sword and scowled up at a large tawny cat draped over a pile of spare blankets.

"It's a habit. What in the name of the Ten Winds are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay at the palace and come back when things started to go right again."

The cat snorted and rolled amber eyes. "You didn't say I couldn't leave if things started to go truly pear-shaped, however."

The red-haired kidnapper sat up slightly. A look crept over his face that seemed rather hesitant to be there – a serious sort of look that didn't quite suit his shock of red hair and crumpled, dark clothing, a look that hadn't been used for a while, and wasn't quite sure it was supposed to be there.

"Pear-shaped in what sense?"

The cat flowed to its feet then leapt from its perch, fading out in mid-air, then settling suddenly around his neck, like a tissue caught in the wind.

"In the sense that the regent isn't talking to the councillors, the councillors are all plotting against each other, the guards are ignoring everyone else, and in general, I'm fairly sure that if someone sneezes at an inappropriate moment, at least three people will declare war, and the entire capital will spontaneously combust."

Kaga grimaced, then nodded. "Ah. That kind of pear-shaped."

_In fact_, he thought to himself as the cat around his neck started to groom a paw, _more like flaming pear-shaped._

Kaga considered few things worthy of the definition 'flaming pear-shaped'. When talks had broken down between theirs and a neighbouring country, almost sparking conflict, he'd called it 'bloody inconvenient'. When a disease had turned into a plague took down half the population of the capital, he's called it 'nasty'. But he felt that when the government, and thereby the entire country, was about to collapse down around their ears, leaving it the proverbial sitting duck to be invaded, it was perhaps a little worse than 'pear-shaped'. Besides, the idea of a flaming pear made for some interesting mental imagery.

He would never admit this out loud though.

He had a reputation to maintain.

Reaching a hand absently up and petting the brushlike, slightly crooked tail of his familiar, Kaga mulled over the idea of flaming pears and his country's government completely breaking down.

"Mitani," he started after a few minutes of relative silence (meaning only the captive snoring gently, Hikaru and Touya arguing up front and the rumbling of the wagon wheels), "I'm changing your orders. This time, I want you to stick around until things start blowing up, then alert me immediately when they do."

Mitani, Kaga's tawny familiar, dug two sets of ethereal claws into his shoulder, then sprang from his perch, taking a goodly amount of flesh with him.

"Slave driver."

With that, he leapt up to perch delicately on Tsutsui's lolling head, prepared to leap again with a movement that reminding Kaga somewhat of a coiling spring, then pounced into mid-air, promptly disappearing.


End file.
